


.....Soon To Be Mrs. Boyd Crowder (If Boyd Has Anything To Say About It--And Boy, Does He)

by Mr_Smurf



Series: Boyd and Roxana, Through The Ages [1]
Category: Justified
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, False Accusations, Gen, Interracial Relationship, Jealousy, Kidfic???Sorta..., Multi, Past Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Possessive!Boyd, Sorry(not really her character is SO annoying), White Supremacy BS, Winona is a major bitch in this one, race relations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 02:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1451479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Smurf/pseuds/Mr_Smurf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Roxana Crowder, a young black woman from the Holler, marries Bowman Crowder straight out of high school--due to there being nothing there for her in the Holler, and Bowman being willing to take care of her and her two younger sisters--Anna and Ada. The marriage soon turns abusive, and surprise! she shoots him. Pretty much the same thing as the show. Boyd was still a creeper to her, a good uncle--Raylan still visits her after she shoots Bowman. And the story continues on....don't wanna ruin it :)</p><p>Raylan, Winona, and Boyd are all around 35.<br/>Roxana will be 23.<br/>Ada is 7; Anna is 5.</p><p>Also, Boyd's love interest in this IS Ava--but she's black, and her name isn't Ava (I don't really like that name, and I am really weird about names and stuff like that), and has a different backstory--some stuff was changed because of the racial and age change of the character of Ava.</p><p>EDIT: To the few people who read this before, I just added a lot to the story, so you may want to go back and reread the first chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	.....Soon To Be Mrs. Boyd Crowder (If Boyd Has Anything To Say About It--And Boy, Does He)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WyrdSmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WyrdSmith/gifts), [Aoidos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoidos/gifts).



> Hope everyone likes this--please be kind in the comments.
> 
> There are three lines that I took directly from the tv show--the 'he wants to sleep with me, not shoot me' and the 'calling his creepy brother, creepy to his face', and the 'goddamn woman, you only shoot people at the dinner table now?'.....otherwise, the show doesn't belong to me, which is a damn shame, because I would mostly be calling for Boyd to be doing dirty, filthy things for the entire series.....maybe it's for the best then.
> 
> Anyway, I'm worried I don't have the 'voices' down pat for the individual characters, but I did my best....and some characters will be changed a little (I'm thinking only one though, a drastic change from the show, at least) from their orig. motivations....
> 
> Also--Boyd is going to be like weird and possessive, like in the show, and obviously I am not in favor of your in law creeping on you while you're married to his brother, and then breaking into your house with a gun. Obviously. So I hope you will all put on your big girl/boy panties, and see that this is a fanfiction, etc, and suspend belief and morals a little bit.
> 
> Lastly, I am writing this story, because I have absolutely no shame in saying that I think that Walton Goggins is the sexiest thing since sliced bread, and absolutely brilliant as Boyd. And if I had a chance, I'd jump his bones. But unfortunately he is married with a kid. Such is my life.

Roxana's hands were calm and steady as she dialed 911, to tell them what she had done. She had done it. She had shot Bowman, her idiotic, boorish, abusive husband. Roxana sighed. She knew, ever since she had woken up this same morning that she was not going to be putting up with any of Bowman's bullshit--one way or another. She knew what she was going to do.

After she told the first responder to send an ambulance because she had shot her husband, she then called her nearest neighbor, a dear, sweet, elderly woman of about sixty, for her to come, and take the girls--her two younger siblings (although they called her 'Mama'), Anna and Ada, away from this..... _mess._

Hanging up her land line, Roxana crossed to the sink, grabbed a clean rag, wet it, and held it to her eye--which was already swollen shut. Bowman had decided that the dinner that she had just started to make was not what he wanted this particular night, and so he'd grabbed her by her hair, and began choking her, slugged her in the eye, and told her to make something else before going into the living room to watch the goddamn football game.

She'd sent the girls upstairs, as always, but this time she sent them up with a few peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, told them to put their cartoons on, and to not come downstairs until she called for them. She knew then, at that moment, what she was gonna do. She was gonna shoot that son of a bitch, at the dinner table, while he still had a mouthful of food. And shoot him, she did.

 _And now she would suffer the consequences_ , Roxana thought sardonically, as she _finally_ heard the sirens of the police and ambulance, in the distance. Her neighbor, her only friend came at the door, bringing with her the coolness and crispness of the night. It was a beautiful, clear night.

Roxana hugged her friend, Mrs. Erma White. She called the girls down, hugging them tight when they came. She kissed the tops of their heads--she didn't want them to go. Erma patted Roxana's hand reassuringly.

"Don't worry dear, I'll keep the girls until this mess is resolved." And with that, she carefully led the girls away, making sure that they did not get a look into the living room.

And Roxana let them, the police and the paramedics, come into the house, and do their work, even made it easy for them. She opened the door for them, showed them where she'd shot Bowman, and showed them where'd she'd put the shotgun. The paramedics insisted on looking at her eye, and the ring of bruises that decorated her throat. And then they'd hauled her in for questioning.

She told them what happened--what was true. The truth. He hadn't liked the meal that she wanted to prepare, so he choked her, and then slugged her in the eye, right in front of the her two kids--and she wasn't dealing with it anymore. He wouldn't let her leave--he'd sent her to the hospital with three broken ribs and a couple of broken fingers (not to mention bruises all over her back from where Bowman had slammed her into the wall a few times), and she didn't know what else to do.

And that was the God honest truth.

They seemed to accept that, and why wouldn't they? Everybody in Harlan County knew that Bowman was a mean, son of a bitch who still hadn't been over the fact that his dreams of being a football star in the NFL was never going to come true, and so he took it out on his young, broke, desperate wife--an outsider by the color of her skin in Harlan County, an outsider in the Holler, due to her father. Everybody knew.

Which was probably why her bail was so low--only a hundred dollars. She had to spend the night in jail, but the trade off was worth it. If it weren't for the girls, she would have gladly spent a hundred nights in jail, if it meant that she'd be rid of Bowman, once and for all. After one of the best night's sleep she's ever had, since getting married, she was processed out of the jail--once Miss Erma posted her bail, that afternoon--after meeting with her lawyer. Her court date was set, and then she went home.

* * *

Raylan lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

"Bowman married a black woman from the Holler?"

Rachel, a young, black marshall with a serious mien came up behind Art, holding a file.

Roxana's file.

Taking a deep breath in, she said, matter of factly, "I talked to her briefly, asked her why, and she said that she was tired of him beating on her, especially in front of her girls. So she shot him. Pretty matter of fact about the whole thing."

"Why didn't she stay in the Holler?" Raylan asked curiously. "I remember Bowman, and while his brother was convinced of him bein' able to go pro at football, I was never quite as sure. But---" he paused, looking at Rachel--whose face was grave. "....but down in Harlan, down in Holler, we don't mix. I was taught that as a child.  _They_ were taught that as children. What causes a woman to leave her community, and marry a Crowder--especially knowin' how racist Bowman and Boyd's daddy was?"

Art cleared his throat. "Well, for one, Bowman's daddy died a few months before Miss Roxana entered the picture. Also, there are two little babies involved--one's seven, and the other one's five."

Raylan interrupted him. "They had kids?"

Tim Gutterson, a young sniper, walked in, and interrupted with a "Nope. They are her siblings, technically. But she refers to them as 'my girls', and so it's safe to say that she considers them as her daughters, not her sisters. The newly widowed Mrs. Roxana Crowder is only twenty-three years old; married Bowman two weeks after she graduated high school. Not quite so surprisingly, her mother died two months before--drug related--and her father still lives in the Holler. He never lived with them, didn't pay child support or anything--not for Roxana, at least."

Raylan interrupted yet again. "Well, I guess I can ask her what made her get the hell out of dodge, and marry the first fool who offered, but I don't think I'll get much of a response. I'll try though."

"Well, try." Art interjected with a heavy sigh. "We got to deal with Boyd Crowder, Bowman's brother. You mentioned him before, you know him?"

Raylan shrugged, and played with the brim of his hat that he held in his hands. 

"Boyd and I dug coal together when we were nineteen. We were not best buddies, but when you're digging coal with a man, trustin' him with your life, and him trustin' you with his--well, you get close. Close enough, anyway."

"Well, Boyd has quite the checkered past 'round these parts." Art said, and leaned up against the table, resting his weight on it. "After he dug coal with you, he went into the Army, went to Kuwait, during Desert Storm. Came back, a few months after Bowman married Roxana. Got involved in some Aryan bullshit for a while. Started blowing up cars, robbin' banks, black dope dealing churches, and the like. We had some intel on him, nothin' too incriminating--and then he just stopped, all of a sudden. Started working with Bowman at the bar that he owns."

Rachel cleared her throat. "I told her that we would need to speak with her, that she would need protection from Boyd. She said it was none of our 'goddamned business' and that she was fine, and could deal with Boyd." She shrugged, and turned to Art. "I'm more worried about the two little girls." She turned to Raylan. "You think that Mr. Crowder would harm her, in front of those girls, especially?"

Raylan put his hat on, and said after a long pause, "Well, I don't care to find out.", and walked out.

* * *

And so now, Raylan stood on the porch of the newly widowed Roxana Elizabeth Crowder. Raylan paused, taking a long look around the yard, before  knocking on the screen door. No answer.

"Ma'am," he said knocking harder this time, "I'm Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens, I'm here to talk to you for a few minutes, if that's all right?"

A moment passed, and then the inner door was opened slowly. Raylan was surprised yet again. He knew that Bowman's wife was young, only twenty-three, and that she was black. The woman that stood before him, despite the black eye and bruised throat could only be described as  _gorgeous._  She was tiny, barely 5'2", with chocolate colored skin, full lips, high cheekbones, light violet eyes, and what could only be described as a  _mass_ of curly hair, pulled loosely back into a ponytail. She wore a simple, light summer dress, with an apron over it--which did nothing to hide the shape or voluptuousness of her body. _She was young and beautiful--no wonder Bowman married her_ , Raylan thought with a wry smile. He took his hat off, held the brim within his hands.

She led him into the house, into the kitchen, her steps light and silent. Two little girls had been playing on the floor, in the kitchen. She shooed them away, and turned to him.

"Can I get you anything to drink, Marshal?" she asked, her voice low and soft.

Raylan didn't answer her for a moment--his eyes had immediately gone to the dining room in the next room over, where there was still a patch of blood in the carpet, a bullet hole in the wall. _She'd actually shot him at the dinner table,_ Raylan mused to himself, silently. _Woman had balls_.

"Marshal?" 

Her voice shook him out of his thoughts. "Excuse me, ma'am?" he heard himself saying.

"Anything to drink?"--he could hear the laughter in her voice.

"No thank you, ma'am." he said, unable to keep his eyes away from the next room over. 

"I still haven't had a chance to clean that out--I think I'm just going to have the carpet ripped up. It's a pain in the ass, anyway. But I haven't let the girls go near that room, and I don't want them to see it."

Raylan found himself nodding. 

"Yes, yes, of course."

A moment passed, before Roxana spoke first.

"He hadn't liked what I was going to make for dinner. The girls wanted chili and french fries--Bowman didn't like that for some reason. Didn't like them, I guess. He never did. He pretended a while, for me." she concluded with a small laugh. "So instead of telling me he wanted something else, he choked me, and then punched me in the eye. In front of the girls." 

She paused, and cleared her throat. There was a long silence, as she turned and looked out the window, into the sunshine, where the two little girls were out playing in the backyard.

"I married Bowman because I had no other choice, and that's the God honest truth." She turned to him. "You know I left the Holler. You know we don't leave, unless we have to. Well, I had to."

There was another long pause, as Roxana turned to him, and said quietly, "I knew when I woke yesterday morning, that I wasn't going to take any of Bowman's bullshit anymore. I knew that I wasn't going to let him hit on me anymore, especially not in front of the girls. I knew what I was gonna do."

Her eyes found Raylan's, unwavering and harsh.

Raylan inclined his head. 

"Well, between us, ma'am, I don't blame you. I haven't heard good things about Bowman, haven't ever--hardly even from his own brother."

Her eyes flickered in surprise.

"You know Boyd?"

"Used to dig coal together, why?"

Roxana let out a low snort. 

"The last time Bowman beat on me, was because I called his creepy brother, creepy to his face."

It was now Raylan's turn to clear his throat. 

"He's the reason that I'm here, ma'am."

Roxana frowned, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Why would you be coming all the way down here, from Lexington, to check on me, because of Boyd?"

Raylan sighed.

"Well, there are more than a few people in my office, who don't think that Boyd is happy with you shooting his brother, or with you, in general, given his past.... _activities_."

Roxana arched a brow.

"You mean him bein' involved in that Aryan bullshit a few years back?"

Raylan nodded his assent.

"That's why we want to keep in touch with you, maybe send a squad car out to keep an eye on you for a while, in case Boyd tries something. Tries to shoot you."

Roxana gave a light, and airy laugh. _Probably her first in a long, long time_ , Raylan thought.

"Marshal," she finally said, "Boyd is a lot of things, but he ain't no racist." At Raylan's questioning look, she continued with "When he first got back from the war, Bowman was as excited as a pig in shit. Wanted Boyd over all the time."

She sighed.

"Wanted me to cook big meals for him, all the time. He was close to his brother, no more'n normal, I guess. We all want our kin around, in the end. But he liked comin' here, eatin' my food. Always starin' at me, but didn't get too close. Not back then, anyways. A short while after he started up with that Aryan bullshit. And then seemed to be confused, him and Bowman, when I was talkin' back to him, to Boyd. The first time I told Boyd that I ain't havin' no goddamn racist in my house, and to get the fuck out, Bowman knocked me flat on my back--I slammed my head on the corner of the stove. Passed out for a few minutes." 

Roxana walked to the fridge, and reiterated her previous question--"You sure you don't want nothin' to drink? I have Coca-Cola, Cola RC, some Diet Pepsi?" Raylan shook his head again. "No thank you, ma'am."

She continued on, with her speech after taking a long drink of a freshly opened Coca Cola. "A while after that, he quit with all that white supremacy bullshit. I don't think he ever believed in it, personally, but who knows with him?"

"How so, ma'am? I would think that joinin' the local KKK means a person follows a certain set of...morals, so to speak."

Roxana shrugged.

"Boyd never did do nothin' about Bowman." she continued. "Didn't stop him. But he didn't, he hasn't hurt me. And he ain't. He ain't gonna shoot me, Marshal. He wants to go to bed with me."

Raylan just looked at her. Roxana sighed, and went to the window, looking out at the girls again.

"I wasn't lyin' before--Boyd is creepy, and he's made it quite clear to me, ever since I married Bowman, that he wanted me. But the thing I always appreciated about him, the only thing I appreciated about him, I suppose I can say, is that he has always been a good uncle to my girls. They love him, and he loves them. Only God knows why. But he loves my girls like they were his own, unlike Bowman." she concluded with another laugh. "So I ain't too worried about him. Well, not no more than usual." she admitted. "But I can handle Boyd." she said, with intensity.

Raylan nodded, and gestured to the dining room, with the bloody carpet and the single bullet hole in the wall.

"Well, I can see that ma'am. But how about this--I'll leave you a card with my name and number, and if you need us, just call. And I will be speaking to Boyd."

Roxana nodded her assent. She took the proffered card and put it away in her apron pocket.

"I'll do that, Marshal."

Raylan tipped his hat, and went on his way. She stopped him on his way out. 

"You sure you ain't want nothin', Marshal? I got some apple pie 'shine, if that's more to your taste."

Raylan considered it briefly. "As much as I would love to, ma'am, I can't. Rules against drinkin' in the middle of the day, and all that."

"Well, come by tonight. I'm makin' a new batch, and need to get rid of some of the older stuff. You can say you're protectin' me and my girls, if you like." she offered.

Raylan tipped his hat to her. "That's mighty generous of you, ma'am. I will do so, at your leisure."

Raylan left the house.

He had work to do.

* * *

As it turns out, she didn't know if Raylan got a chance to go and see Boyd, at his home, as he was now pulling into her line of sight, arriving a few hours after Raylan cleared her driveway.

Roxana's upper lip curled, as she saw Boyd's familiar red truck pull into her driveway. Making her way to the back door, she called for the girls to come inside from playing. It was nearly dinner time, anyway.

"Anna, Ada--your uncle's here." she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. While it was true, she knew that Boyd wouldn't shoot her, she didn't know what he wanted from her, now that she had shot Bowman. 

When they were almost in the house she said "It's almost supper time, I want you to come into the house now, and wait upstairs for me." The girls did as they were told, as always, although she knew they were wanting to see their uncle. Boyd treated them better than Bowman did. Treated them like they were his own blood, not just hers.

Roxana met Boyd at the door. He'd paused in the doorway, waiting for her. Her face grew stony, for his benefit, more than hers.

"What do you want?" she finally asked.

Boyd licked his lips, and said, "Well, I would like to take the girls out for some ice cream, if that's all right with you, baby."

Roxana's eyes narrowed. She'd almost forgotten about that name that he would call her, when they had spare moments alone. He called her  _baby._ His  _sweet baby_ \--which might've been sweet if she had actually been married to him, and not to his brother. If she'd wanted him, as much as he wanted her.

She'd never had time to  _want._

To need.

To be given.

She got what she got, and the hell with the rest--it wasn't hers, so she did not worry about it. Couldn't afford to worry about it.

"You know I hate it when you call me that, Boyd." she finally said, not knowing what else to say. Not knowing what ground they stood on. She knew that he wouldn't ever do anything to her while Bowman was around, but he wasn't around now.

Boyd smirked at her response.

"Well, then, Mrs. Crowder," he continued on, knowing that would piss her off even more, "I would like to take my poor, bewildered nieces out for some ice cream, to take their minds off of what's going on here."

"It's almost time for them to eat dinner." she said lamely. 

Boyd took that for the invitation that was not in her voice. He came right in, as always, and made himself right at home.

With a barely concealed sigh, she called the girls down.

As she stepped back, to allow him into the house, Boyd caught her arm. She turned to look at him. His gaze was reflective, lingering on her throat and eye.

"Well, I can see why you finally shot Bowman."

Roxana scoffed.

"Nothin' a little ice won't fix, as always. It ain't the first time you've seen me like this, Boyd. But it will be the last. Now let me go." She tried to pull away, and his grip merely tightened. 

"We're gonna have to talk about things, sooner than later, baby."

Roxana glanced back at the girls, who weren't paying any attention to their mama and favorite uncle, lost in their own world. 

"We ain't talking about nothing, because I ain't having anything to do with you. Not anymore. That tie is severed forever."

Boyd gave a short laugh.

"Well, now, that's funny baby. Because I just came from my lawyer's. Bowman left me with half the bar. So you will be seeing me, a lot more of me. And that is a promise, believe me on that, baby."

He let her go then, his eyes darkened as he considered her throat and eye. 

Roxana stood rooted in that spot, unable to move, as he considered what he was going to do.

One big, rough hand went from hanging useless at his side, to stroking the edges of her eye, trailing down her cheek, to brushing the bruises on her throat, gently. Roxana let out one ragged breath, not daring to pull away, not even sure what she was feeling at this moment.

Boyd pulled his arm away, pausing to turn his head to look at the dining room. Roxana had spent the afternoon scrubbing the blood out, until it was a faded pink stain---there wasn't much she could do about the bullet hole.

"Goddamn, baby." Boyd finally said. "Are you just shootin' people when they eat dinner, or any other time?"

Roxana didn't respond, and renewed her effort to step away from him.

Finally, he began to pull himself away from her, and went over to the girls, but not before saying, 

"I will be sticking around baby, you can count on that. And we will be discussing this further"

With that he was gone into other room, being the good uncle, as always. That was what they knew.

Roxana stood in that hallway for a long while, until her breathing went steady, unsure if she had gotten herself another Bowman, or if she had traded one Crowder for another. Neither boded well, it seemed.

* * *

  When the girls and Boyd were gone, Roxana did as she always did. She made dinner for her family. It soothed her, relaxed her. It was the one thing, other than her girls, that she could take pride in. That Bowman took pride in--when she wasn't around, of course. He bitched about everything she and the girls did--how much money she spent on clothes for the girls, on herself, fixing up the house, her cleaning, about what she was going to make for dinner, told her that she was fat, and everything else.

But he never bitched about her cooking when he was sitting at the head of the table, shoveling her food in his big mouth. Roxana paused in her preparations. She'd fixed his favorite meal--fried ham slices soaked in honey, cinnamon, and cloves (because she had no time to bake one, and nor had she been planning on doing so that night), mashed potatoes, fried okra and tomatoes, and some corn bread. For dessert she made up a apple pie, adding some of her apple pie 'shine to the batch.

It was Bowman's favorite. In the beginning of their marriage, he'd told her that she cooked just as good as his mama. That'd made her happy, in the beginning. It gave her a certain pride. It gave her something to hold onto, something other than what the reality of her marriage was. Hadn't lasted, in the end. None of the good times ever did, not for her. 

But anyways, she let him get good and started on his meal--him still watching that goddamned football game, with the tv in the dining room. It was the first thing she'd moved, after everything was all said and done. She hated that goddamned tv.

And then she excused herself (not that he noticed, because of that goddamn tv) to the kitchen, to get Bowman's hunting rifle that they kept by the fridge. And then she shot that son of a bitch right in the heart. And went on about her business, as she always did. She had to.

Tonight she was preparing  _her_ favorite dinner--fried chicken soaked in buttermilk a while,[ johnny cakes](http://southernfood.about.com/od/cornbread/r/bl01002g.htm) with salt, pepper, and a little cayenne pepper for some heat, some black eyed peas, and finally some greens with ham, along with some homemade gravy for the chicken and cakes. 

Roxana checked the time, it was near seven at night. Boyd and the girls should be home soon, just in time for dinner. Normally, she'd be pissed off, with Boyd takin' the girls off and spoilin' their appetites. But not today.

As she slid the uneaten apple pie into the warming oven, Boyd and the girls pulled up in his truck. She met them at the door. 

"Girls, I want you to go wash up, so we can eat."

"Yes, mama", they both replied obediently, and did as they were told.

Boyd paused at the door. "You gonna invite me in, Roxana? My nose may be deceivin' me, but I smell some fried chicken and gravy, my favorite, as you well know."

Roxana paused a moment, before curtly saying, "Fine.", and backing up from the door, going into the kitchen for the food. The girls were already sitting pretty at the table, when she set the food out, and began to fill their plates. Boyd sat at the head of the table, in Bowman's place. And ate with just as much gusto as he always did.

"I see you got rid of the tv." Boyd said, gesturing to the corner of the room.

Roxana didn't answer, just ate. After dinner, she sent the girls upstairs, and turned to Boyd.

"The fuck do you want, Boyd?"

Boyd leaned back, with a smirk on his face. "Well, I see your bein' a widow has done nothing to tame your mouth, baby. I like it."

Roxana leaned back in her seat. "I ain't playin' with you Boyd. I'm through. I tolerate you because you are my daughters' uncle, but other than that, we won't have any dealings. I mean it."

Boyd licked his lips, and patted his stomach through his shirt. "As far as I see it, Roxana, you're wrong. Now, you own half of that bar, bein' Bowman's widow and all. I, along with Cousin Johnny own the other half. Now, way I figure, we can all work together. Now, Johnny and me can work the bar, as always, and you--you can do some cookin'. I know plenty of men that will fall down and worship your pretty little feet for a bite of your sweet potato' pie. Now, what did you say?"

"Knock, knock." Roxana turned to see Raylan Givens at her screen door. 

"I came to see a woman about some moonshine, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Roxana quickly got up, to Boyd's displeasure. "No, of course not, Marshal. I'll get it." And busied herself with gathering up the jars from the basement, and into a crate.

Boyd considered Raylan. "Well, well Raylan. What brings you all the way out here, at this time of night?"

Raylan seated himself across the table from Boyd, and set his down on the table between them. "Well, like I said, Boyd. I was invited. And lucky I was, because it spared me from lookin' all over Harlan for you."

Boyd made himself comfortable. He was not going anywhere, anytime soon. Not in this house. "Well now, Raylan, how can I help you?"

Raylan leaned across the table. "Are you plannin' on harming that woman?"

Boyd sat up straighter. "Is that supposed to be a trick question, Raylan? I don't understand what you mean?"

Raylan let out a low chuckle--"You know goddamn well what I mean, and how I mean it." His eyes were trained on Roxana, as she came up the stairs carrying the heavy box of moonshine. Boyd followed his line of sight, and jumped out of his seat, and took the crate from Roxana. 

"Raylan, what do you say I carry this out to your car?" he suggested.

Raylan nodded him in acquiescence. "Of course, Boyd." He turned to Roxana. "Well, Mrs. Crowder, I'll see you sometime soon." He tipped his hat to her, and followed Boyd out. Once at the car, he turned to Boyd and said "I don't know what's going on here, Boyd. But all I know is that if you harm that woman, or those kids, then I will hunt you down. Understood?", and stepped into his car.

Boyd gave a small laugh, and leaned onto Raylan's car.

"Whatever you may think of me Raylan, I honestly do not care. Now you can choose to believe me or not, when I tell you this, Raylan, but I love that woman. And I will be taking care of her and my girls. Trust me on that." 

* * *

 Boyd made his way back into the house. Roxana was waiting for him at the door. He paused before the screen.

"Give my idea some thought, baby. I'll see you down at the bar tomorrow, so we can talk things over." 

**Author's Note:**

> How was it? Not too terrible or boring, I hope. I'm not sure if I got the possessiveness of Boyd down pat, but I'm tryin'. I can't make him into a complete asshole.
> 
> And obviously, I don't know too much about court, and the appropriate bail amount and how long it takes to process a case, and so on--so just suspend your belief a little....


End file.
